


Never in my dreams did I imagine pain and pink camellias

by Baryshnikov



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Chronic Pain, Falling In Love, Flowers, Language of Flowers, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Sweet, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-08 23:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17990756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baryshnikov/pseuds/Baryshnikov
Summary: No matter what happened, Harry still brought him pink camellias.





	Never in my dreams did I imagine pain and pink camellias

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Remembering](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15773130) by [ThisGirlNeedsABreakFromTheWorld](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisGirlNeedsABreakFromTheWorld/pseuds/ThisGirlNeedsABreakFromTheWorld). 



> I wasn't actually planning on this fic, but I randomly remembered the fic that inspired this (which is absolutely beautiful), and it just sort of happened. It was also written in like an hour, so it probably isn't my best, but I thought it was kind of sweet, so I hope you enjoy it.

The first time Harry came to see him, he’d brought pink camellias. Draco had looked at him for a long time, pink camellias were not the usual flower that one brought to former enemies recovering in hospital beds. Pink camellias were for expressing of passions, for revealing crushes, for divulging hidden secrets. They meant _I long for you_ , and they were beautiful. Harry hadn’t realised what they’d meant, he said as much, red-faced and tripping over his words. If Draco was honest though, he was grateful for that. Thanks to those flowers their first real meeting hadn’t been as awkward as it could have been. They had something to talk about over cold cups of hospital tea, something that didn’t require them to talk about things that still stung their mouths to say. Those pink camellias had been the best thing to happen to him in years, and perhaps it was the best thing to happen to Harry too, because every week, he still brought him pink camellias. 

The world was different when he’d left the comfort of the hospital. The world had changed, grown brighter in many respects, and he was glad for the summer. To feel the sun on his back was far better than feeling that shadow. He liked just to sit on the grass beneath the willow trees and imagine he was younger, that his childhood had been more childlike. Perhaps what he liked more though, was that he no longer sat alone. Harry sat with him under the willow trees. Together they listened to the wind as it slid between the branches and the leaves and played a symphony for them. It was beneath the sun and the trees, and all the beautiful things in the world that Harry kissed him for the first time. Nervous and unsure, teeth clunking together because they were still young. It didn’t matter though, for Harry he didn’t have to be perfect, and that made him feel as free as any of the bird that flew across the sky. Though he thought for a while that Harry would leave him after that, but he didn’t, instead, Harry still brought him pink camellias. 

As much as he wished it could, the past hadn’t gone away. Doctors said that, for him, it never would. Chronic pain didn’t sound like a bad thing, but it was. It slowly crept up on him, winding its hands around his legs, and up his back, until his world was burning. Some days were good and he could be normal again. Other days were bad. On those days his back ached and the slightest movement felt unbearable. The tingling in his feet came too, that feeling of static in his toes that wouldn’t go away no matter how much he moved them. It didn’t seem to matter how many times the pain flared again, he always forgot how much it hurt, how much it made him want to curl up under the covers and hide from the world. That didn’t help though. Lying there under the duvet, slowly suffocating in the heat, didn’t stop the needles continuing to knit themselves through his muscles, burrowing like worms slowly burning, constantly reminding him that he was broken. It was days like these, that he was especially grateful that Harry still brought him pink camellias. 

Sometimes it felt like he was completely alone in the world, abandoned by all the people who tried their best but just never understood. Most people tried to wrap him in swathes of cotton wool, desperate to keep him safe, even though the problem lay inside him. Others said that it was in his head, that he was the cause of his problem, and that, if anything, he was exaggerating it all. Trying to win sympathy with the people who still despised him for what he had done, when he was young and stupid. Draco knew how people looked at him in the streets. How they curled their lips and murmured things to their friends. He knew that those words they shared in private were rarely friendly, rarely kind. He knew they called him a manipulator, a deceiver, a liar. That in their eyes, his pain wasn’t real because he didn’t look broken. Sometimes, they made him question himself, think that perhaps he was overreacting? Perhaps it was all in his head? Then he would lie alone in their bed, hoping that Harry believed him, that Harry still brought him pink camellias.

Harry never left him though, and he felt a fool for thinking that he would. Harry was different. Harry was special. Harry simply understood. Draco always wondered where Harry learnt such compassion, such kindness, such empathy until he realised, Harry didn’t need to learn. It was just one of those things that grew naturally inside him. Somehow, by the gift of the gods, Harry was inherently good. From him a warmth, that Draco had never had the pleasure of feeling before, radiated; it heated his hands and thawed out parts of his heart, he never thought he’d see again. The best analogy he could think of was that Harry was like a gardener, nurturing his plants with water, sunlight and love. Following that, Draco could only be grateful that Harry had chosen _him_ to cultivate. For when the world felt like it was collapsing, Harry remained a constant. Always content just to sit in silence while Draco sobbed, just sitting, holding his hand, a finger tracing up his wrist, waiting until Draco wanted to say something. Sometimes he did. Sometimes he wanted to talk about what he felt, find ways to describe the pain in terms other people could understand. In those times, Harry would lie beside him and listen, offering perspective and depth, helping him to understand that, as bad as the world was, it wasn’t all bad. Harry always repeated that when he still brought him pink camellias. 

Other times, Draco didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to acknowledge the fact the world was dissolving around him, because he knew it was stupid to catastrophise like that. The think the worst of everything was just another sign that he couldn’t cope with what life had dealt him, and that made him feel weak and helpless and alone. Broken. That was what he was on those days. Broken. Harry didn’t mind though. He said that very early on, that he didn’t mind if he was broken, because he was broken too, albeit in a different way. Those could be nice days, even if his legs ached awfully, and he felt so tired, because Harry would open the window and they would hear the world outside. The rush of the wind against the glass, and the chirps of birds neither of them could ever remember the names of. The beginning of autumn smelled nice, cool and fresh, chilling the room in a nice way until the sun set across the valley, and the room would be so filled with golds and pinks, and shadows that no longer made him scared. Those were times he felt that, despite what he was, Harry still liked him. Harry always laughed and went out of his way to show that he did, and he did that the best when he still brought him pink camellias. 

There were times when the world seemed to slow; when time itself vanished, and there was nothing but them left in the universe. Draco loved those times. When Harry was with him it didn’t matter that pain permeated every inch of him, it didn’t matter that he was defined by something as cruel as agony. When it was cold and raining, and the clouds overhead looked like a renaissance masterpiece, they would stand together under the arbour, not caring if their faces got wet. Not caring about anything but each other, nothing but how they filled the other’s gaps, gave one another a stability and an understanding so many people just didn’t appreciate. It felt so good to just be understood. To know that even when the universe made him feel so small and insignificant, even when he was reminded that there were thousands who were in much more pain than him, he was still valid, in a quiet, uneventful way. It was under the roses and the rain that Harry asked him to marry him, all shy and nervous, like he was still scared of being rejected. Draco didn’t reject him, and he’d never seen Harry’s smile spread so wide. Everyone said that being engaged so soon would change things between them, but it didn’t, not really, Harry still brought him pink camellias. 

Despite his happiness, there was still one thing pressing on his mind. The dark mark was fading, but no one knew if it would ever disappear, so he made a decision. He didn’t tell anyone, not even Harry, he just did it. When he showed him, Harry had smiled and said that he loved him. Though what Draco had done looked trivial, it felt so significant. Now there was a single pink camellia superimposed on top of his scar. It showed the world he had a new dream, a new vision, a new hope; and for the first time, he wasn’t lying. He wasn’t fooling himself into thinking he was happy, because he actually was. He was happy when the pain receded, and he and Harry could just sit by the window and watch the snow fall. But he learnt that he could be just as happy, even when the pain threatened to consume him. Even when he was crying alone, he could look and he could smile because Harry and his warmth was always with him in a way. Even when Harry was away, saving the world again, and Draco was alone watching the rain from his bed, he could be happy because he knew, despite having one always attached to him, Harry would still buy him pink camellias.

**Author's Note:**

> I have to apologise, soon, I will actually be updating the fic I'm supposed to be updating, rather than writing things like this.
> 
> Also, I'm still getting the hang of Harry/Draco, so sorry if they don't feel quite right.


End file.
